


Take Me From The Hospital Bed

by emilyrosey



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Depression, Frank/Gerard - Freeform, Frerard, Friendship, Hospital, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self Harm, Suicide, frank iero - Freeform, gerard way - Freeform, treatment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:38:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8762614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyrosey/pseuds/emilyrosey
Summary: "I fell into the nothingness. Everything was good again."





	1. Chapter 1

                “Frank, this is the third time in three weeks that you’ve been in this hospital for attempted suicide,” the Doctor said to me, looking straight into my eyes with a concerned expression on his face. My faced stayed blank, refusing to show any kind of emotion, so he just sighed and looked back at my notes. Doctor Jackson was my favourite doctor, and every time I had been put into this place I had refused to talk to any other doctor unless it was him. He didn’t talk to me like I was a pane of paper thin glass that could shatter at any second, but at the same time he didn’t treat me like a moody teenager making up their symptoms for the attention – he talked to me like I was an adult conscious of my own decisions. He respected me and therefore earned my complete respect in return.

“I know,” I replied quietly, stroking the skin around the cannula in my left hand – it was still kind of uncomfortable, even though it had been there all night. Needles had never been my favourite thing and having one stuck in my hand for long periods of time was definitely not my idea of fun.

“To begin with, we had those deep lacerations on your wrist that--”

“That time was an accident!” I interjected. He looked surprised at my sudden willingness to talk. Sure, I was thinking about how I _could_ kill myself while I was dragging the blade across my skin, but it wasn’t _my_ fault the razor was too sharp… I just accidentally applied too much pressure.

“Let me finish please, Frank,” Doctor Jackson said calmly. “Those cuts left you bleeding profusely in your bathroom.” I winced at the memory. “Then we had the time you tried to drown yourself. You’re lucky that your mom knew basic CPR.”

“Yeah… I was _lucky_ ,” I scoffed in a sarcastic tone.

“Frank, this is important – stop interrupting me!” His tone was becoming increasingly impatient now, so I knew I was pushing it too far. “And this time you took an overdose. That was an impressively large number of pills that you managed to get hold of Frank, some of which are only available on prescription… how did you come into possession of those?”

“They were my mom’s… they’re for her back pain. I stole them from the cupboard,” I replied.

“Ah, okay then – I understand,” he mumbled, scribbling something onto his clipboard. “I also understand that Doctor Jones has already been through your blood test results with you.” I grimaced. Doctor Jones was the most patronising woman that I had ever met. “Don’t look like that, Frankie. You know, we’re all worried about you, and she is too! It’s not just me that cares. _Technically_ she is your family doctor and therefore the person who should be talking to you now, not me.”

“Yes, but I would literally rather die than talk to her.” I knew that I was being overdramatic, but it made Doctor Jackson laugh when I groaned.

“Unfortunately, Frank, due to the frequency of these incidents, we are going to have to place you under section 136 of the mental health act for assessment,” he said, a more serious tone to his voice.

“What does that even mean?” I asked, rolling my eyes at him. “I’m not a doctor, you know. You need to explain these terms to me.”

“It means that we’re going to assess you and then decide what type of treatment will be the most effective for you. There are a lot of options, such as counselling or psychotherapy, but it is most likely that you will be put into an inpatient hospital for treatment. However, that depends on how your assessment goes and if anywhere nearby has a free bed. If there are no free spaces, you will be put on a waiting list and will have regular meetings with the staff here at the hospital to monitor your mood, behaviour and condition.”

“You can’t make me go somewhere like that!” I said, raising my voice and sitting up in my chair a little. I was beginning to panic. Previously, I had been threatened with compulsory counselling sessions, but I refused them, promising that it wouldn’t happen again. I was given a slap on the wrist and turned away. Being locked away was one of my biggest fears. I couldn’t do it.

“Oh yes we can, Frank. If we are forced to section you, we will – but you will have a choice, for now. Anyway, Doctor Jones is going to take you back to the ward now and your mother will be here soon. Nice job choosing the one day that she left you alone and was in a different state, Frank. It’s not like she’s saved your life twice already or anything.” The sarcasm in his voice was highly evident. I grimaced before getting up and stepping outside of the office to meet my least favourite person in the universe.

                I ignored of Doctor Jones’s ‘ _friendly’_ questions all the way back to the ward until she realised that there was no way I was going to utter one single word to her. I received a lot of stares from people I knew when we passed the emergency room, my mum’s friends, a kid from college… anyone that knew me. I lived in a small town where everybody knew everybody, so it was hard to do anything without the rest of the population finding out about it.

 _“They know you’re a fucking psycho,”_ the little voice inside my head whispered.

“Shut up,” I mumbled, crossing my arms across my chest as I walked and yelping when I knocked my cannula a little.

“Excuse me, Frank?” Doctor Jones said, raising one eyebrow at me.

“Not you. The voice in my head,” I replied shortly, narrowing my eyes at her. She hummed softly and smiled at me sympathetically. I hated her so much. “When are you going to take this _thing_ out of me?”

“Well, Doctor Jackson will probably remove it when he comes to do his rounds later on,” she replied, smiling at me. Her lips were stretched thin and her eyes were hollow. She was enjoying this no more than I was. “We will need to take the sample to be analysed to check that your blood levels have stabilised.” I scowled in her general direction.

“How are you feeling, Frank?” she asked, holding a door open for me. We were mere seconds away from the children’s ward now.

“I feel like I should be dead, to be honest. At least I wish that I was. And why do I have to be on the children’s ward? All the kids there are in for _real_ problems… there are leukaemia patients in there. I don’t want them to hear that I’m here because I tried to end my life while they have been fighting for theirs… it makes me feel stupid.”

“Well perhaps you should have thought about that before you attempted it,” she said in a breezy manner. My mouth fell open a little in shock at her brusqueness as she pushed through the door to my ward. I closed it immediately when I saw my mother sitting in a chair next to my bed. Her eyes were red and bloodshot.

“Oh, Frankie,” she started, tears welling up in her eyes. “Are you okay baby?” She looked tired and weary, and I immediately regretted my decisions. Nothing hurts more than dealing with the aftermath of a failed attempt to take your own life.

“Yeah, mom. I’m fine,” I said weakly, flopping down onto my hospital bed.

“Frankie, you’re barely 17 and you’re just throwing away your life! You’re a smart kid… you were always getting A’s and B’s before this all started. And just think about your future! What are your future employers going to think about you? What are they going to think when they see all those ugly scars on your wrist? Do you think they’ll keep you at their company if you keep taking time off for breakdowns and hospital time? Do _you_ not think about your future, Frankie? Do I have to do it all for you?” She had started crying now; just stray tears making their way slowly down her face. It broke my heart to see my mother cry, but I couldn’t do anything about it now. The damage was already done. “I just hate seeing you like this. I just want the best for you… nothing but the best. I just want you to be like you were when you were little. A nice, friendly, cheerful boy who never failed to put a smile on everyone’s face at every opportunity. Don’t you miss that boy? Where has he gone.”

“I don’t know…,” I whispered, swallowing the lump in my throat. “But I’m going to get better this time, okay? I promise. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you… again,”

“Then why do you do it?” She asked, reaching for my left hand, then changing course and clutching my right hand instead. “If you don’t want to hurt people, then why do you do things like this?”

“ _Because I’m unhappy,”_ I whispered.

                Our conversation was interrupted as Doctor Jackson entered the room with Nurse Waldron in close pursuit, face adorned with his usual bright and cheerful smile. He was always overly friendly when he was on the ward – he saved the lectures for his office.

“Good morning, Mrs Iero,” he said, smiling in her direction. “I always hate to see such lovely families in this ward.”

“Oh, hello, Doctor Jackson,” my mother replied, wiping her eyes before offering her hand for him to shake. He took it. I held out my hand and he rolled his eyes, knowing that it wasn’t a handshake that I wanted. Nurse Waldron started to take the cannula out of my hand as Doctor Jackson began to debrief my mother.

“I was discussing with Frank earlier about what the next steps are after he is physically well enough to leave the hospital.” Doctor Jackson began to explain the mental health act business to my mother, and while he did, I zoned out. I didn’t need to hear this again.

I began tracing over the scars on my wrists and admiring their different shapes and colours. I knew it was sick to be proud of injuries you caused yourself, but I didn’t care. We were supposed to be ashamed… to consider them ugly. They were secrets people like me had to hide beneath our sleeves, constantly living in fear that someone would find out and judge us or treat us differently. But why was that? Was it so that we could feel better? Feel normal? No. Of course not. It was for the benefit of the rest of the world. But why do they have such an issue with seeing our scars? Did it make them feel guilty? Did it make them feel like they could have done more to save us? Or did it make them feel angry? Angry that we could be so stupid to do something like this. Did it make them sad? Did they feel disgusted? The delicate vines lacing up and down our arms were ugly to them… something they would _never_ see on their own body. Or was it so that they didn’t feel obliged to talk to us about our issues? Out of sight, out of mind – if they didn’t have to see the problem, then they could ignore it and would never have to face it. Their own selfishness damaging their friends, family, colleagues… refusing to help in case the issue became too much. I mean, _everyone_ has problems, right? Why should we have to help others when we have our own. Do we have to hide them because others don’t have a spare five minutes in their busy lives to try and save us? Who knows. All I knew was that I had to hide them… “ _for my own good.”_

My scars were beautiful to me. I was in no rush to erase them from my body. I didn’t care what anybody thought of them, I was oddly proud… they showed just how much I was capable of. I knew the story behind every individual scar and together they painted a picture of how miserable my life was.

“But you’re going to go voluntarily - right, Frank?” My mom said, looking at me expectantly. I realised that I had missed something important while I was so engrossed in my own thoughts.

“I’m sorry, what?” I began, blinking a few times and shaking my head as if to clear it. “I missed everything you said.” Doctor Jackson shook his head slowly.

“We were talking about you either becoming an inpatient somewhere voluntarily, or whether we have to section you.”

“No fucking way!” I exclaimed.

“Frank, there are other children in here that are younger than you. Don’t use such awful language,” my mother hissed at me.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, still scowling. “But I’m not going into a place like that voluntarily. Are you completely insane?”

“If you go in voluntarily, there are a lot of benefits. You will be given leave, be allowed out on day trips, provided the nursing staff agree it’s safe, and if you get better in a shorter amount of time than expected, you will be released. If you are sectioned, you do not leave the premises whatsoever and you have no choice in when you are released. In fact, if you are admitted to one of the two local inpatient facilities, I will be part of the team that assesses whether you are well enough to be discharged – it’s your choice.”

“Fine, I’ll go _voluntarily_ if it makes it easier for me. This is still ridiculous though! I don’t need to be an inpatient.” I complained, lying back in my bed and staring at the ceiling.

“Well, judging by your behaviour over the last couple of months, you do. We’re going to making some enquiries today about units in the area that would be willing to take you, so we should know by tomorrow evening at the latest. Therefore, you will be required to stay overnight again so that we can monitor your condition and keep you under observation for destructive behaviour. If you are given a place tomorrow, your mother will have to go to your home and pack your belongings, but you will probably be expected to move in immediately as you are a high priority case. And on that note, Mrs Iero, I’ll be off – I have the rest of my rounds to complete. Thank you so much for your time and I’ll see you tomorrow, Frank.” He shook my mother’s hand once more and nodded at me briefly. I nodded back politely because, to be honest, Doctor Jackson had my utmost respect.

                “We need to talk about this, Frankie,” my mom said in a soft tone. I sighed – I’d had little enough sleep the night before and I was not in the mood for talking. I had talked to no less than five different doctors and nurses already, informing them of what I had taken, when I had taken it and, of course, _why_ I had taken it. An interrogation and guilt trip was definitely not what I needed right now.

“No… we really don’t,” I replied curtly, fumbling around in the bag my mum had brought to the hospital with my clothes in for my iPod.

“We do, Frank. Do you ever think about what you’re doing to me? How this makes me feel?” she asked, tearing up again. I found my iPod eventually and sat back on my bed, unknotting the headphones.

“You know what, mom – not everything is about you all the time. I know what I’m doing and _obviously_ I feel bad about it, but you need to stop making me feel so guilty all the time. Do you really think that your opinions on this go through my head as I’m doing it? I’m sick of your sad, little side-glances at me and the constant nagging to get better. It doesn’t help.”

“Well maybe I just want you to get better,” my mother said, her tone becoming colder.

“What’s the point.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh come _on_ , mom!” I said, raising my voice a little. Some of the kids on the ward turned to look at me. “If it was easy then I wouldn’t be here right now, would I? I just don’t care anymore. I give up! I’m sick of all this trying, it just tires me out. I’m _so_ tired. Do you ever think about what _I_ have to go through every day? The pain I endure, the struggle, the _voices in my head?_ Do you have any idea what it feels like to fight for yourself… every second of every day? Because I do… and it’s so draining. Everything would be better if I just gave up and ceased to exist right now. But obviously you don’t understand anything about me. I don’t feel like you even try.”

“Is everything okay, Mrs Iero?” Doctor Jones said in her annoying, professional voice – apparently my ranting and raving had caused her to come and investigate what the problem was.

“Yes, Doctor Jones,” my mother said, trying to hide the slight shake in her voice. “I was just leaving to go home and call Frank’s grandma, to let her know what’s going on.” I felt an icy cold pang of pain in my heart. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was hurting my grandma. “Do you want me to come back later and spend the night here with you, Frank?”

“No,” I said bluntly, putting my headphones in and scrolling through the list of albums, looking for some music that would fit my mood, as my mother picked up her bag and left quickly.

“Are you okay, Frank?” Doctor Jones asked, staring at me blankly. I rolled my eyes at her.

“You can leave me alone too,” I mumbled before pressing play and letting the growls of Slipknot drown out the noise of all the other kids on the ward, as I closed my eyes and attempted to get some sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

                I stared up at the large building in front of me, the peeling white paint looked almost as shabby as the unkempt flowerbeds that lined the pavement up to the painfully bright, yellow door. My mom nudged me, urging me forward, but I stayed rooted to the pavement.

“Frank, let’s not waste any more of my time, okay?” she said impatiently. “I’ve already had to come back from my important business meeting in Chicago. Let’s go in there, get you settled down, and begin your treatment so that you can recover quickly and come back home.” I scoffed. Quickly? Did she think this was a quick in-and-out process? I knew that I could be in here weeks… months, even. Reluctantly, I picked up my bag off the path and trudged towards the garish entrance.

                Inside, the reception was bright and spacious with a very modern feel to it – nothing like the exterior. I could see three other doors from where I stood, one labelled “Visitors Room,” one labelled “Dr. Southwell’s office,” and a glass door that seemed to have multiple security systems connected to it – that must be the door to the ward. My mother strode up the reception desk in the corner of the room while I slumped down onto one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs in the opposite corner, staring angrily at my shoes. I could hear my mom whispering about me, saying that we had been sent from the hospital as we had been offered a place here. Janet, whose name I could read from the gold name badge fastened to her uniform, said that she had been expecting us, and that we would be called into Dr. Southwell’s office soon. With a thin smile stretched across her lips, my mom thanked the receptionist and came to join me in the seating area.

“I don’t want any sarcasm, impoliteness or anything else from you in this meeting, Frank,” she said, harshly. “You will be on your best behaviour the entire time that you are here, and you will try your hardest to recover. Do I make myself clear?” Any sympathy or sadness that my mom had shown in the hospital had vanished and had been replaced by her usual, stony attitude.

“Yes,” I replied, curtly.

“Good,” she said, mimicking my tone.

We sat in silence for the next few minutes until a woman emerged from the second door in the room. She was tall and slim, and looked about the same age as my mother. Her hair was tied up neatly in a bun and she wore clothing that was not quite casual, but didn’t look like a uniform either. She shook both of our hands politely and invited us into her office. My mother entered briskly and I slunk along slowly behind her.

                “Welcome to Orchard House, Frank,” the doctor said in a light and breezy tone – I decided she reminded me far too much of Doctor Jones and I took an immediate dislike to her. “I’m Dr. Southwell, but you can call me Molly, and this is going to be your new home for the next two weeks, or however long it takes for you to recover. Now, you have been brought here because you have attempted suicide three times in the past month, is that correct?” she asked, riffling through her notes. The hospital must have sent my file over already. I nodded slowly.  “Because of that, we have decided that being at home could possibly post a high risk, and therefore you will be staying here to minimise that. Whilst you’re here, Frank, you will have access to people who you can talk to and trust, and they will be helping you to get better. However, we do have a set of rules. The most important rules that you need to understand are that under no circumstances should you bring any form of sharp or dangerous object into the house, in order to keep you safe and to keep the other patients safe too; we expect you to have the utmost respect for the staff here, and obviously we will respect you equally so in return; this goes without saying, but no physical or verbal abuse is to be inflicted on staff or patients; if you have a cell phone, it cannot have internet or a camera function as that could breach patient confidentiality laws – if not, we have a few spare phones that you could put your SIM card in; regarding your phone, you will only be allowed to use at certain times of the day, but we will talk you through that later when we give you a time table of what happens here, and finally, there should be no physical contact between you and any other person in the hospital, both staff and patients.” She finally paused for a breath. I wondered to myself how many times she had given this exact speech to new patients, and how long it had taken her to memorise. “Did you understand all of that, Frank?”

“Mmhmm,” I mumbled, non-committedly. I had been zoning in and out of her speech, judging the room and forming my first impression of the place on it. The four walls were painted four different colours – red, blue, green and yellow – and were decorated with multiple ‘ _happy_ ’ pictures and slogans, probably to brighten up the place. It was sickeningly childish. The chairs were like that of the reception area at my school, but there were also a few bean bags in the corners that looked old and dishevelled.

                “Well I’ve finished talking for now and it’s time for you to have a go,” she said, clicking her pen and balancing her clipboard on her knee. ‘ _I’m not a child’_ I thought to myself, but instead of externalising that thought, I substituted it for a small glare in her direction. “I have some quick questions for you. Do you smoke?”

“Nope,” I replied, crossing my arms across my chest.

“Okay… do you or have you ever taken drugs?”

“No.”

“Do you drink?”

“Every day,” I replied, a sarcastic smile playing on my lips; my mom shot me an icy glare. “Not alcohol though.”

“Good. Do you have any dietary requirements?” I looked at my mom expectantly – she sighed.

“He’s vegetarian, but he’s not allergic to anything that we know of,” she replied, the smile on her face very strained.

“Oh, I’m vegetarian too!” she said, smiling at me and showing all of her teeth – it was actually quite horrifying. “And finally, a question that we like to ask all of our patients when they first arrive here – what would you like to achieve from being here, Frank?”

“Well,” I began, pausing to collect my thoughts. “I suppose I just want to get better. I’d like to stop self-harming and I would like to stop being so sad and suicidal all of the time. I doubt you’ll fix me that much though, so I would just settle for an improved and more stable mood, I guess.”

“Well, you’ll find that we like a challenge here, Frank,” she replied. “Finally, before we take you to your room and give you a tour, do you have anything on your person that could be deemed dangerous, or that could be used to cause harm to you or anyone else?” I checked all of the pockets in my jeans and hoody and found them all to be empty. I shook my head in response to her question.

“Excellent – now, I’m going to take you to your room and introduce you to Chloe, who will be in charge of your care and will conduct one-to-one sessions with you while you’re here. Do you want to come around with is, Mrs Iero?” she asked, turning to my mother.

“Oh, I don’t mind. It depends weather Frank needs me,” my mom replied, looking at me with a shaky smile. I knew that even though she wanted me to be here, she couldn’t stand the idea of me being away… even if she didn’t always show it.

“I can do this on my own,” I replied, standing up and putting my hands in my pockets, denying her eye contact.

                After my mom left, I was taken through the lengthy corridors towards what would be my home from now on. To be honest, there wasn’t much to complain about. I had expected a grungy, dark and tiny room with bars on the windows and locks on the doors. Instead, I found a bright, spacious, double bedroom with a large window that let in plenty of light. There were two single beds against opposite walls of the room, with 2 wardrobes at the foot of each; there was also a chest of draws adjacent to the head of the bed. The room was almost symmetrical and due to how empty it seemed, I got the impression that no one else resided in this room.

“Am I going to be sharing with anyone?” I asked, throwing my bag onto the bed closest to the window and hoping that it had not already been claimed.

“No, not at the moment,” Molly said, sitting down on the bed opposite and placing one of her ankles neatly behind the other. “But we’ve had two different potential patients whose files have been sent to us, and so one of them will most definitely be sent here. It’s likely that we will get the male rather than the female as this is the only spare bed we have, and only single-sex rooms are permitted. Do you have a problem with sharing a room with someone?” she asked, taking out her notebook from her jacket pocket again.

“No, it’s fine. Maybe the company will be nice.”

“Good,” she purred, writing something down. “Now, I’m going to need to check your belongings to make sure you haven’t brought anything harmful into the house.” I sighed and allowed her to search through my bag. “I know, I’m sorry. I would feel the same if someone was going through my belongings, but unfortunately… it’s policy.”

My mom had packed my bag, so I had no idea what was even contained within it. Luckily, it seemed as if she had packed all my favourite clothes – I smiled to myself, thankful to have these home comforts in this alien place. I wondered who I would end up sharing a room with, whether it would be a nice guy or a jerk. Would we have similar problems? Maybe we would have other things in common and we would get along well… or maybe not. Then what would I do?

“You’re clear,” Molly said, breaking me away from my train of thought abruptly. “I’ll leave you to unpack. Chloe will be down to see you soon and she will take you through our daily routine. I will see you later, Frank.” She turned on her heels and strode briskly and confidently out of the room, her kitten heels clacking against the linoleum floor all the way down the hallway.

                I began hanging my clothes up on the chunky, metal coat hangers in the wardrobe. They had no sharp corners, the hole wasn’t big enough to fit a head in for hanging purposes and there was no way I could break it or disfigure it – it was as if it had been designed specifically to cause no harm whatsoever. The bed frame was also made from metal, with no parts that could be easily removed or fashioned into sharp points. I noticed then that there were also no plug sockets in the room… there was no lock on the door… there were no glass surfaces. I thought to myself, how much thought must have been put into creating a room with no potential means of hurting oneself? I finished emptying my bag, kicked off my shoes and lay down on the bed… _my_ bed. It was surprisingly comfortable, even though there was only one pillow available, and the duvet seemed soft and warm. I was glad that the bedroom was nothing like I had imagined in my nightmares.

                I heard someone coming down the corridor, a set of keys jangling in their pocket. I sat up on the bed. A woman with a friendly face peered around the corner of the door and smiled at me – I smiled back shyly. She was reasonably pretty, but a little plain. She was of average height and had dark brown hair that was tied up in a low ponytail. The deep colour of her eyes matched her hair and they were warm and caring – far softer than the hazy grey gaze of Molly.

“Frank Iero?” she asked tentatively, standing in the doorway. I nodded. “Good, that must mean I’m in the right room. Well, I’m Chloe, and I am going to be the person in charge of your care while you’re here. I assume that Molly went over the important details with you when you arrived?”

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Good.” It seemed like this was the only word that anyone in the nursing profession knew. She sat down on the bed next to me, balancing her clipboard on her knee. “The first thing that I need to tell you is that you’re on fifteen-minute observation – this means that a member of staff will come and check to see if you’re okay and where you should be every fifteen minutes. This person will usually be me, but when I am not here another of the nurses will take over. There are different levels of observation, but we always put new patients on this option to make sure that they are settling in and so there are more options for them to speak to the nurse in charge of their care. Depending on your progress, we will either increase or reduce the time between your observations accordingly.”

“I’m also here to go over your time table with you. So, we’ll go over the basics first.” She handed me a colourful piece of paper with a table on it, each slot filled with a different activity. I followed the chart as she began to explain it. “Breakfast is served at 7am every day; at 11am you will have a break time, where you’ll be provided with a drink and a snack; lunch time is always 12:30pm and your break time in the afternoon is at 3pm. At 3:30pm every day, Molly has decided that you will be joining the relaxation therapy group – do you know what that is?” she asked, finally pausing to take a breath.

“Nope – I don’t know about anything like that,” I answered, pulling my legs up onto the bed and getting comfortable. “I’ve never really had proper counselling or therapy.”

“Essentially it is guided relaxation lead by one of the nurses. You will be in the relaxation therapy room with the other patients in the group, where we have chairs and beanbags so you can choose where to sit. There is a CD player in there with a special CD with music and sounds that will hopefully help you to relax. Some people find that it helps them, some use the time to reflect on their progress, and some just don’t find it useful – you’ll have to make a judgement on that yourself when you have spent some time in there. There are other activities on your timetable, but they only happen once a week: there’s a unit meeting on Mondays that 11:30am – that’s where we look at any requests that you have made about how to further your care and we assess whether they’re suitable and possible; on a Tuesday at 11:30 you will have a protective behaviours session, but that’s a little hard to explain – we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it; art therapy is every Thursday at 10am which, again, the nurse leading that session will explain when you first go there, and finally, on Wednesday’s between 9am and 2pm, we conduct our ward rounds. Your time will be at 10am. It is where we have a meeting with your parents and all the other nurses, teachers, doctors, social workers and therapists involved in your care and we discuss how your week was and plan the next week.”

                “Do you understand everything that I’ve said so far?”

“Yeah… It’s just a lot to take in, I guess,” I said, shrugging my shoulders and staring blankly at the packed timetable. I was used to doing nothing all day, sometimes dragging myself to school but not very often. This amount of activities was going to wear me out, I could feel it already.

“I know it is, but you’ll have time to look at it in more detail in your own time later. Now we can tackle the subject of school. We were sent your school records with your files this morning, and it looks like you’re a really bright kid, but your attendance was worryingly low. We have a school programme here, but you will only be in class at 10am on Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays and at 2pm on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. So that’s the bulk of the day sorted – the evenings are a lot easier.” She chuckled to herself and I smiled in response. “Dinner is 5pm and you are allowed to use your phone between 6:00pm and 10pm. Lights out is at 11pm, but the nightlight on the ceiling will stay on so that we can check on you, but don’t worry – it’s very dim so it shouldn’t disturb your sleep. So today is Thursday, and it’s nearly 3pm, so all of the other patients will be having their break soon. This will be a great chance for you to meet them. Have you got any questions?”

“How many other patients are there here?” I asked.

“Ten others, eleven including you – but it will soon be twelve if the new patient is confirmed to be coming here. There are four other boys and six girls here, so it’s quite an even mix.”

“What sort of problems do the other people have?”

“I’m not allowed to disclose that kind of information to you, and the other patients are not supposed to discuss that with you either – talking about your problems and experiences to other patients could potentially encourage or trigger them, and we don’t want you to pick up any kind of negative behaviour from others. That applies to you too: don’t discuss your problems with the others, that is what the staff are here for. Do you want to ask anything else?” I shook my head, my fringe flopping into my eyes. “Ok then, Frank, it was nice to meet you. You will be having your first relaxation therapy after lunch – we’re trying and get you into a routine as quickly as possible. However, if the change is too much for you and you feel distressed or unhappy, please tell a member of staff and we will slow down your transition. Somebody will come by in about 10 minutes to show you were the lounge is so that you can meet the others. I’ll see you later, Frank.” She flashed me a quick smile and walked out of the room. I lay back down on my bed, listening to the sound of her heels on the ground vanishing into the distance and waiting for someone else to come through the door.


	3. Chapter 3

                I was taken into a spacious room by Molly, who motioned for me to take a seat on one of the many beanbags and chairs placed haphazardly around the room. I noticed that in one corner there was a bookshelf containing a wide selection of books, none of which I was interested in, and in another corner, there was pool table that looked a little over used. Even from a distance, you could see the greying scuffs where the cue had hit the felt, and the scattered patches of blue dust from the chalk. This aged and dulled item didn’t seem to match the other pristine, bright furniture in the room. I looked around for any other sources of entertainment – I wasn’t much interested in pub games like pool. There was a TV mounted to the wall with a shelf beneath where there was a games console, some DVDs and a few games. Again, none of them really appealed to me. It seemed as if I really would be bored to death in this place.

“The other patients will be here soon so I’ll introduce you to them, and then them to you – is that okay?” Molly asked, standing in front of me.

“Yes,” I said, shifting uncomfortably on the beanbag and making it rustle. She smiled at me and excused herself for a moment, which I used to take in the rest of my surroundings. The walls were a pale blue and for once all four were the same colour – this was a relief to me as the harsh colours of the visiting room hurt my eyes. The floor was covered with a soft, white carpet with a large, navy blue rug taking up a lot of the room in the centre of the floor. I didn’t particularly like the colour scheme… it made the room feel cold. But then again, the whole place felt cold and devoid of meaningful expression.

.

                Molly re-entered the room with Chloe and mere moments later, other patients began filing in, talking amongst themselves but stemming the flow of their words immediately as they saw me sitting in the corner of the room. The atmosphere in the room became immediately tense… almost hostile. I counted the people in the room – seven… eight… nine. The tenth, and final, patient eventually entered the room as Molly took centre stage, standing on the big, blue rug.

.

               “Good morning, guys,” she said in her annoying bright tone. The rest of the room just sat still with blank faces that gave away no emotion whatsoever. “Most of you knew that we were getting a new resident today, and here he is – this is Frank.” The entire room turned their heads to look at me, formulating an opinion on me based on my looks. I began shifting uncomfortably again, but stopped when I remembered the annoying noise it created. I was never someone who revelled in attention, and sitting here under the scrutinous gaze of these strangers was extremely unnerving. I composed myself and managed to force as friendly a smile as I could onto my face.

.

              “So, Frank,” Molly began, turning her attention to me after a few seconds of excruciating silence. “I’ll go around the room and introduce you to everyone. So, starting in your corner of the room and moving clockwise we have Alexandria, Cassie, Rachel, Samuel, Nathan, Kai, Laura, Hannah, Sylvia and Philip. I’m sure that they will welcome you to Orchard House with open arms as they are a lovely group of young people. Also, this is a notice for all of you – we are going to be welcoming another new resident tomorrow, so hopefully you can save some hospitality for him too. Now, I have to go and fill in Frank’s paperwork, so I will leave you to talk to him – _please_ be friendly and help him with any questions he has. You all know how hard your first few days and weeks were here. James and Chloe will of course be in here to observe and you can talk to them if you need to. This is James, Frank,” Molly said, gesturing to the small, chubby guy who was stood in the doorway. “Could you bring out the drinks and snacks please, James,” she continued without pausing, addressing James – like Chloe, he had a friendly face and struck me as a humorous person. Molly turned on her heels and strode out of the door followed by James, leaving Chloe the sole supervisor in the room with her clipboard and pen.

                “Hi, I’m Alex,” said a girl, striding towards me and flashing me a large smile. For a moment, I was confused – her bright smile didn’t fit in with the objective of this establishment. “Molly introduced me as Alexandra, but seriously – don’t call me that. No one calls me that, not even my grandma. It’s an awfully old fashioned name.” I studied her face and took in her features, the sharp angles of her face and how she seemed only about a quarter of the size of me. For my age, I was quite skinny, so it was a shock to see someone so tiny. I immediately assumed that she was in here to recover from some form of eating disorder. My thoughts were confirmed when after about a minute of embarrassingly awkward small talk about my thoughts on my bedroom, James brought a drink and some food over to Alex and she grimaced, reluctantly accepting it. “They make me eat it,” she continued, taking miniscule bites of the energy bar in her hand. “They think that if I don’t eat it I’m going to plummet to some kind of dangerously low weight,” she said dramatically, smiling wickedly. “Everyone else gets a drink of water or juice too, but I have to drink milk to keep up my intake of calories. I don’t even like milk… it’s fucking ridiculous, don’t you think?”

“Firstly, Alex, watch your language, please,” James interjected. “And secondly, you know you’re already at a dangerously low weight. If you manage to gain some weight, then we would consider taking the milk out of your meal plan. You also know you shouldn’t be taking about things like that with Frank, or any other patient.” Alex just scowled at him and he stuck his tongue out at her in response. I giggled. Alex mumbled _‘whatever’_ under her breath and walked back over to the other girls in the room, trying to conceal the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. I took a drink from the tray that James was holding and said thank you, earning me a broad smile from him before he went off to supervise Alex.

.

                I sipped my drink in silence, watching the other patients take part in various games and activities going on in the room. It was surprisingly hard to work out why each of them had been placed here in Orchard House. I had always felt that it was obvious from how I acted or how I looked that I was ill… but maybe it wasn’t so obvious to outsiders who had never met you. If we had met anywhere else but here, I’m sure I wouldn’t have suspected that many of these people were mentally ill at all. Only a few cases were obvious – for example, Alex was blatantly suffering from some kind of eating disorder and there was another boy, Kai, who seemed dangerously skinny. There were a lot of people walking around in long sleeved tops, and the people with short sleeves on had clean wrists. I assumed the long sleeves were mainly to cover scars, but it made it difficult to judge why the others were here. However, I didn’t ask, as I had been told not to. A few times, people stared in my direction and I tried my hardest to avoid their gazes – I felt very unwelcome. Eventually Alex came back and pulled up a bean bag next to me.

“So, were you sectioned or did you come on your own will?” she asked abruptly, taking a sip of her milk and grimacing. I was taken aback by her forwardness.

“Oh… umm, Chloe told me I’m not supposed talk about it,” I mumbled, scuffing the carpet with my shoe. She tutted and rolled her eyes at me.

“It’s not as if anyone listens to that rule. I mean, I could tell you what everyone here is in for, but obviously I’m not doing to disrespect them by telling you without their permission – they can tell you themselves if they want to. I have severe anorexia apparently, but you probably already guessed that. I was sectioned so I didn’t choose to be here, but you probably already guessed that too.” I smiled at her.

“I’m here because I tried to kill myself three times in three weeks,” I mumbled, looking down into my lap. I wasn’t sure why I suddenly felt ashamed of what I had done. Maybe it was because usually these weren’t the kind of personal details you share with someone after having met them only five minutes before. “And I ‘ _chose_ ’ to come here.”

“Oh,” Alex said casually. “You could relate to a lot of the people in here. Do you know anything about the new boy coming in tomorrow? The others were asking.”

“Well, Chloe said that he’ll be sharing a room with me and that he’s been sectioned… but that’s all I know.” Alex nodded, stood up and returned to the group of girls playing Wii carnival in the middle of the room.

.

                I spent the rest of the half an hour on my own, finishing my drink and eating an apple. The thought of approaching one of the other patients and trying to strike up a conversation terrified me, and I wasn’t willing to put myself through that. Deep down, I wished that Alex would come back over to me just to keep me company, but I didn’t want to latch onto her and risk making her feel uncomfortable. Besides, I wasn’t here to make friends… I was here to recover. What was the point in making small talk with people if I couldn’t eventually bond with them properly and talk to them about my problems? That was conversation I should save for the staff.

.

                After a few minutes, I was drawn out of my contemplation by a stranger standing in the doorway of the room.

“We’re starting the relaxation therapy session in five minutes, so if you want to take part, then come through now,” he said, addressing the whole room.

“That’s Simon,” said Alex, who had silently popped up by my side. I jumped, startled. “He’s the occupational therapist here. C’mon, let’s go. I don’t really like relaxation therapy but sometimes it’s just nice to sit in a room with others and not feel lonely, but not get stressed about by the staff constantly bothering you. You can come sit with me, if you like.” She flashed me a winning smile and I followed her out of the door, heading down the corridor with Simon and three of the others.

.

                When I stepped through the door labelled ‘Relaxation Therapy Room,’ I was immediately awestruck by the breath-taking decoration. It was clear that hours and hours had been spent painting this room, getting every detail perfect. All four walls and the ceiling were painted to depict the entire solar system, with a swirling, dark background. I stared in awe at the intricately painted planets and all of the star constellations – some I recognised, some I didn’t. I decided that even if the session was awful, I would continue to come just to marvel at the art work. Eventually, Alex nudged me further into the room and sat down on a bean bag, motioning for me to join her. I chose a chair avoiding the bean bags so that there was no chance I would make any noise to disturb the serene atmosphere. The lights were all different colours, but they were dim which added to the magical feel of the room – I had fallen in love.

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               I had always been interested in art, but I had no patience for creating it myself. My father was an artist whose passion for art was unrivalled. When he was still around, he would take me to art galleries all across the country and I would spend hours asking him to explain the techniques and concepts to me. I would sit and watch him paint every evening, mesmerised by the strokes of his brush against the canvas. He had tried many times to teach me to paint like him, but it was useless… I could never paint anything even half as beautiful as his creations. But that was six years ago, and I hadn’t seen him since. I felt my cheeks flushing red and I shook my head to erase all thoughts of my good-for-nothing father.

.

              “So are you ready to start?” Simon asked. His voice was clear and soothing; when he talked it seemed more like a cat purring. The patients in the room made non-committal mumbling noises which he took for a ‘yes’. Simon pressed play on his small, wireless CD player and soft music began playing. “So… today I would like you to close your eyes and imagine that you are taking a relaxing walk through a wonderfully calm forest. It’s a warm day, but the shelter of the canopy keeps you cool, and so does the occasional summer breeze – you are relaxed, completely at peace with yourself. You can hear the birds chirping cheerfully up in the branches and you can see a light… you slowly make your way towards it and you step into a clearing. A wonderful, tranquil field full of golden wheat. You feel safe and secure and nothing at all can harm you. Take a few moments to just breathe, take in your surroundings and think – send all of your negative away with the small, fluffy clouds in the sky. They are not with you anymore… you are completely relaxed. Your negative thoughts do not matter anymore as they have gone… they have flown away with the clouds in the blue sky.” Simon continued talking for a few more minutes before leaving us to our own thoughts. I began to feel tired – I’d had very little sleep the night before in the hospital as I had been worried sick about coming to this place. However, if I was honest, that worry was unfounded… Orchard House didn’t seem too bad at all.

.

                I was carefully pulled from my thoughts when Simon began talking again. “Now, slowly bring yourself back… become aware of your surroundings and open your eyes. Become aware of your breathing… of the room… of the people around you…” I opened my eyes and once again was met with the beauty of the décor. I turned to see Alex smiling at me. I smiled back, feeling a lot more relaxed than I had before. I thought to myself that I would probably begin to enjoy these sessions more the more I immersed myself in them. “I know that I always say this, but make sure that you remember: you can always return to this state of relaxation when you are feeling stressed or upset.” Simon said, standing up and heading to the door to hold it open for everyone to leave. Reluctantly, I stood up and stretched my legs, taking one last, long view of the beautiful pictures before I left.

“How did you find it?” Alex asked as we walked through the corridor back towards the living room.

“It was good, actually,” I replied. “I thought that is would just be a waste of time, but I found it quite…”

“Relaxing?” Alex said, finishing my sentence. She giggled. “Yeah, it can be sometimes. But then again it can be annoying how many times Simon says ‘relaxed’, ‘calm’, ‘free’ or something along those lines. But yeah, once you get past that, it can be quite useful. Kai doesn’t like it, and neither does Sylvia. They never go. The others just tend to opt in and out of the sessions depending on how they feel that day.”

“Cool,” I said simply, not entirely sure how to respond, but wanting to keep the conversation going. “So what do we do now? I haven’t had much time to look at my timetable.”

“Well now we have some more free time, so you can go to the lounge and hang out with everyone, or you can go to your room. Either way, you have to make sure the staff know where you are. If you just wander off, they’ll be annoyed when they have to search for you to do observations. Dinner is at five, as you’ve probably been told, but you have an hour until then. I’ll be in the lounge if you want to come and hang out with me… I can introduce you to the others.”

“No that’s okay,” I said awkwardly. I was feeling pretty relaxed from the session and didn’t want to lose that feeling from sitting in a room being stared at again. “I think I’ll just go to my room and finish unpacking and sorting out my thing.” Alex nodded at me and said goodbye, returning to the lounge area. James came out of a door way near me, making me jump.

“Hey, James,” I said, addressing him – he turned and smiled at me. “Is it okay if I go to my room until dinner?” I asked.

“Sure, Frank. I’ll let Chloe know so she can come and do your observations.”

“Thanks,” I said, smiling and walking in the direction of my room, still thinking about the relaxation therapy room.


	4. Chapter 4

                Back in my room, I flopped onto the bed and pulled my diary out of my bag, opening it to the next clean page. I tried to write or draw at least something small in the small, red notebook every day, but I didn’t have it with me in hospital, so I began my entry by filling in the events of the last three days. I had just finished writing about my stay in the hospital and was beginning to write about being sent here when I heard the sound of rattling keys coming from the end of the corridor – I had realised by now that this was the tell-tale sign of a member of staff heading in your direction. As expected, Chloe appeared in the doorway with a clipboard and a pen poised in her hand.

“Hi, Frank… are you settling in okay?” she asked, stepping into the room.

“Yes, thank you,” I replied politely, closing my diary quickly and putting the end of the pen in my mouth.

“Good,” she purred. “I’m just here to do your observation. I have to write down the time, where you are, and what you’re doing. Oh, and if you show signs of distress, express any negative feelings or act in a worrying way, then I have to include that. So, you’re in your room, it’s quarter to five… and what are you doing?”

“I’m writing in my diary,” I replied, feeling a faint red flush appear on my cheeks.

“Wonderful. It’s always nice to have a healthy way of expressing your feelings. We often encourage our patients here to write down their feelings to help them understand and assess how they are feeling. If you feel comfortable with others reading your entries, they are a really good resource for therapists to use in order to better understand your condition. When you write about your feelings when they are fresh in your head, it’s often a lot more accurate of a picture than you can give from just telling someone how you have felt over the week.”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled, considering the idea a little. It just felt like it would be way too embarrassing and awkward to watch someone reading my diary. My diary was for me, not anyone else.

“You have plenty of time to think about that, but definitely consider it. Well, I’ll be back in another fifteen minutes, but I’ll be taking you to the dining room for dinner. You need to have a quick look at this menu and choose what you would like for dinner, then I can take it to the cafeteria.” She thrust a piece of paper towards me. I took it and quickly scanned the options, looking for something I could eat. There wasn’t much choice, but I ticked the vegetarian option and then filled in the rest of the form appropriately, choosing which vegetables I wanted and what I wanted for dessert before handing it back to Chloe. She smiled at me. “Do you need anything else??” She asked, tucking the paper into her clipboard. I shook my head in response and she said goodbye, allowing me to return my attention to my diary.

                I finished the entry in my diary at around five minutes to five and lay back on my bed, waiting for Chloe to come and fetch me. I began to think about the events I had written about, the feeling of guilt slowly creeping over me like a shadow in the night that you swore was moving towards you, engulfing everything in darkness. I missed home. I missed my bed, my music, my laptop… I even missed my mom. It was like being at summer camp, except I knew there weren’t going to be any fun activities the next day to distract me from my homesickness. It wasn’t fair. I never wanted to end up here. I never wanted to be a ward kid. But I wasn’t a kid anymore. I was nearly seventeen and I had nothing. No qualifications, no job prospects, not achievements under my belt. I suddenly felt very small and in this very big and unrelenting world. There didn’t seem to be a place for me in society, and that was why I had been sentenced to do time in this place.

Sure enough, after five minutes of wallowing in my thoughts, Chloe arrived and whisked me off down a corridor and into a large cafeteria. There were many small tables scattered around the room that looked like they could only accommodate two or three people at a time. Some people were already sat down in groups, except for Alex and Kai who were both sat at separate tables away from the others, but were each accompanied by a member of staff – I assumed that this was so that the staff could make sure that they ate all of their meal and didn’t try to hide it. I sat down at a table on my own, not wanting to intrude on the other patients’ ready-made friendship groups. It felt like high school all over again. After a while, the girl I recognised as Sylvia walked in and looked around for a place to sit. There were no free places other than a seat at a table with Cassie and Rachel or a seat at the table with me. She looked between the tables and was met with icy cold glares from the other girls, therefore she turned to come and sit with me.

                We both sat in silence until the nurses brought our food to us. I tucked in immediately as the food looked delicious – I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t good quality food. Sylvia ate in silence with not quite as much gusto as me, but with much more than Alex, who I could see struggling in my peripheral vision.

“Hi, I’m Frank,” I mumbled after about five minutes of awkward silence. She just looked at me and said nothing. “Umm… I like your hair,” I said awkwardly. Sylvia’s hair was jet black with blue ends and was tied in two low bunches on either side of her head. Her hair was wavy and she had a side fringe that flopped into her eyes as she put her head down to eat.

“I’ve been here nearly a week and you’re the first person to say anything nice to me,” she whispered. “Not that I can blame them… I mean I probably scared them too many times already.” She laughed weakly to herself and took another bit of her food. I had just moved my fork to get some more food when her hand suddenly flew across the table, grabbing me by the wrist. She stared into my eyes, a look of determination in her eyes. I twisted my wrist to try and get free, but her grip was very strong. “You understand, right? You feel the same? Obviously, we don’t want to be here… so let’s get out.” Her voice dropped to a low, menacing whisper. “I say that we run away now and if they don’t let us out then we take this cutlery and kill them. They’re blunt as fuck, but if we apply enough pressure they’re bound to do some kind of damage.” Her grip on my wrist tightened even more as I looked around wildly, trying to find someone to help. Chloe had noticed the disturbance and had already began swiftly making her way over.

“Sylvia, can we go somewhere else and talk about this?” Chloe asked in a reassuring tone. Sylvia didn’t react for a while, continuing to stare straight into my eyes. Eventually, the grip on my wrist loosened and I snatched my arm back quickly, rubbing the red marks. Sylvia slowly got up and headed for the door, flanked by Chloe. I let out a breath that I didn’t even know I was holding.

                About half way across the room, Sylvia dropped to her knees, screeching and crying and scratching at her face. Several members of staff headed over to help Chloe pick Silvia up off the floor and escort her out of the room. I stared at the scene wide eyed – I had never seen anyone act like that before. What particularly surprised me was how none of the other patients even batted an eyelid. The girls continued chattering, the boys continued eating and the other members of staff continued observing. It was only Alex who glanced over at me and gave me a thumbs-up sign, silently asking if I was okay. I nodded shakily. Is this what she meant, saying she had probably already scared the other patients? I looked back down at my food, suddenly not hungry anymore.

                About fifteen minutes later Chloe came back into the room, looking a little flustered. She walked briskly over to me and sat down opposite me, just where Sylvia had been sitting previously.

 “Are you okay, Frank?” she asked, concern on her face. Her concern wasn’t feigned like Doctor Jones’ usually was at home. I felt instantly reassured.

“I’m fine… it was just a bit of a new experience. Is she okay? Where did she go?”

“Oh, she’s in the LSU so she’ll be just fine in a little while. Just remember that it wasn’t personal and you don’t need to worry about it. If you ever see a situation like that escalating, then call over a member of staff straight away. It will be easier on you, the other patient and us if we can prevent a breakdown like that. Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need to talk to someone?” I shook my head. “Okay, well I’ll put this down in your notes for today just in case anyone would like to talk to you about that. Anyway, it’s nearly half past five, so we will be distributing your phones in a few minutes. If you’re finished eating, you can go through to the lounge after you’ve helped clear up.” Chloe gushed before scurrying off again. I got up soon after, taking the tray with all of my dishes and cutlery to the trolley by the door to be cleaned. Afterwards, I headed to the lounge, eager to get my hands on my phone.

                I was intercepted by Alex, who was closely followed by James, in the corridor whilst making my way over to the lounge.

“What happened with Sylvia?” she asked immediately.

“Hello to you too, Alex,” I said sarcastically – she just smiled and raised one eyebrow at me challengingly. "I don’t know. I think she had some kind of break down. They took her to the LSU anyway, whatever that is.”

“Oh. It’s the Low Stimulus Unit, but I have no idea what it is really because I’ve never had to go into it. Don’t worry about her anyway, she’ll be fine. How are you, Frank?” She asked politely.

“I’m alright, I guess. A bit shaken up, but mainly okay. How about you?”

“Full,” she replied shortly, wrinkling her nose. “And James has to follow me round like a dog for the next hour in case I try to go and make myself sick.”

“Alex, you’re not meant to discuss your problems!” James said, reprimanding her, but not in a serious manner. Alex just rolled her eyes at him and he mimicked her, exaggerating the motions. I giggled.

“James is definitely the best member of staff here,” Alex continued. “He’s not quite as strict as the others, but that doesn’t mean you can get away with anything.” She glanced at him again, flashing him a wicked grin. “But you can get away with some things. He’s in charge of my care – who’s in charge of yours?”

“Chloe,” I replied simply. Alex shrugged.

“Hmm. She’s alright, I guess. But if you need to talk to anyone, I’ll lend James to you.” Alex smiled at me and then at James who gave both of us the biggest and most sincere grin I’d seen my life.

                When we arrived at the lounge, we headed to the corner at the back where there were two bean bags positioned opposite each other. Just a few seconds after we had got settled, James came into the room holding a small, cardboard box – I guessed that in contained all of the mobile phones.

“Ok, guys - phone time,” he said, still smiling. His smile wasn’t like Chloe’s smile… it was genuine. He seemed like a genuinely happy and cheerful person. Why would someone like that want to work in such a miserable place as this? He began to read out numbers that were stuck to the back of each phone, and Alex got up to get hers when number 8 was read out. Eventually, after ten phones had been distributed, I was the only one left without a phone. “Frank, you’re number eleven,” James said, coming over to me. “Don’t forget. When other people hand the phones out, just get up when they say eleven. Obviously the numbers won’t be in order because the box gets moved around, but just remember – eleven.” I thanked him and he left, presumably to fetch his clipboard so he could observe Alex.

“Who are you going to text?” Alex asked, staring intently at her phone and clicking the buttons frantically.

“My mom, I guess. I haven’t really got anyone else worth texting.” I scrolled through my contacts, pausing on my father’s name but quickly dismissing any impulses to text him. I didn’t even know I still had the right number. Instead, I clicked on my mom’s name and began sending her a message to let her know how I was doing and what I had done that day. “How about you?”

“Oh. I’m going to text my parents, obviously, and maybe my little sister,” she mumbled.

“I wish I had a sibling,” I replied, looking up from my phone at Alex’s face. “How old is she?”

“She’s 7… my mom brought her a phone just so that she can keep in contact with me. Her name’s Ebony – I have a picture of her in my room and I’ll show you tomorrow. She doesn’t know where I am though.” She bent her head even further towards her phone as her brow furrowed. “I was sectioned, so I’m not allowed home and I don’t get leave, and mom won’t let her visit this place. She doesn’t understand why her big sister can’t come home and play with her.” Alex’s voice became little more than a whisper at the end of her sentence; I regretted bringing up the subject. “They told her that I’m at a special school where I have to work very hard and can’t come home until I finish my exams. I just miss her, I guess.”

                After a quarter of an hour of awkward silence, she smiled at me and put her phone down.

“I’d hug you if James wasn’t watching from the other side of this room,” she said. “I hate the no contact rule. It’s not like I’m going to catch your illness from hugging you… it’s hard to make friends without contact.” I smiled sympathetically at her, knowing exactly what she meant. When she had spoken about her sister, I had wanted to give her a hug more than anything in the world… but that just wasn’t allowed.

“How long have you been here?” I asked, not sure if I was delving in too deeply, but Alex didn’t seem to have anything against asking me personal questions.

“Twenty eight days today,” she replied. “That’s how long you have to stay if you’re sectioned. I was meant to be going home tomorrow, but they said I haven’t made enough progress and I haven’t shown that I’m not going to go back to starving myself when I get home. It’s like a challenge. You have to decide whether you want to ge better or not, really. If you don’t, then some people can fake it. Make them believe you’re better. Then you get out in a matter of weeks. But for those who really try… who really try to get better… it feels like a lifetime. I have to stay for at least another two weeks, then I can make a case to be discharged again.” I grimaced. I couldn’t imagine having to stay here for that long. “It’s not too bad though. They’re applying to get me some leave… but it will only be a few hours at the weekend. At least I’ll get to see my Ebony.” She gave me the biggest smile that I had seen from her all day. “I hope they let me.”

“I’m sure they will,” I replied, reaching out to put my hand on her leg, but retracting it quickly, thinking the better of it. Her smile faltered.

                We decided to play a game of cards for a while afterwards, then we drew pictures of each other and then swapped at the end – she drew me in a Japanese anime style whereas I drew a more life-like portrait. I was exceptionally proud of my drawing and was reluctant to give it away, but I wanted to be able to take my drawing from Alex home as a memory when I got out. Her style was very unique, and she was clearly a talented artist, though she denied it vigorously when I tried to complement her. For the rest of the evening we watched TV with the rest of the group. There were very limited options, but eventually we settled on watching Disney’s Cinderella because, apparently, it was Laura’s favourite film _of all time_.

                At around eight o’clock, I retired to my bedroom to get settled for bed. It still felt odd to be so tired so early in the evening, but the early starts and packed timetable had thoroughly worn me out. At home, I would never usually sleep until around one in the morning, staying up playing video games, scrolling the internet or watching films. Even at that time, I could never sleep. My head was always too full of racing thoughts, too many to stay focussed on one properly. I got changed into my pyjamas and sat on my bed, looking at the drawing. I noticed that Alex had scribbled something on the back in bright, pink ink – her writing was not particularly neat so I struggled to read it. Eventually, I deciphered a number and a short note underneath

“ _This is the number for my phone at home… it’s so we can keep in contact when we both get out of this place – keep it safe xox”_

I smiled to myself and began folding the paper in half when Chloe walked in. I hadn’t been told not to share my personal details with the other patients, but I guessed that it was probably forbidden and I definitely didn’t want this drawing confiscated.

“I’m just here to do your observation,” she said quietly. She began to write, mumbling what she was scribbling as she went. “quarter past eight… Frank’s room… Umm, what are you doing, Frank?” she asked, looking up at me.

“Umm I’m just looking at this picture, then I’m going to write in my diary and just lie here and hopefully sleep,” I replied, realising how annoying these constant interruptions were.

“Ah, that reminds me,” she said, fumbling around in her pocket. Her hand emerged with a small ball of blu-tac. “James told me that you and Alex had been drawing things for each other and he suggested I bring you both some blu-tac so you can stick the pictures up.” I smiled at her gratefully and immediately began sticking the picture up above the head of my bed. “It’s always nice to make the room your own. It makes your stay a bit more comfortable. Last thing – the night staff will be coming on at nine o’clock, so just be prepared for someone else to be taking over your observations. Someone will come to collect your phone at about ten o’clock – if you’re asleep before then, just leave it on your bed side table and they will collect it, or go to the lounge and drop it off. I’ll see you twice more tonight, and then at about one o’clock tomorrow, Frank,” she said before leaving the room. I sighed and looked again at the picture on my wall. Chloe was right – it definitely did brighten up the place.


End file.
